Reqiuem of What Once Was
by Crimsonia
Summary: Time and space are strange things once you think you know all there is, something happens and what you know is shattered. Erin and Allie's whole world is shaken when the lights led them behind the glass that they had once thought lead to nothing.
1. Behind the Reversible Glass

This is my first Soul Calibur fiction… Enjoy. I love feedback, so read and review it or I will smite you with an orange peel.

This chapter of the story is more of an introduction to the rest, so it really doesn't have much to do with Soul Calibur… I apologize if anything is confusing, but I'll probably answer most questions in the story… in due time. Also, I hope this is the shortest chapter I'll be writing.

Chapter One: The World Behind the Reversible glass.

"I have to piss like a racehorse." Allie Eldredge stated flatly, ascending from Erin's bed.

Allie was an attractive, pale girl standing at roughly five feet tall. Her straight textured bob cut was black in color with red highlights. Her narrow eyes were a chocolate brown in color, though her right eye had an odd, but almost unnoticeable purple color if you would observe it closely. Black rimmed glasses served as frames for the eyes. Her face was round, and at the moment had a bright smile, which made her features more appealing. She was clad in a red hooded sweatshirt and baggy jeans, which concealed her figure. The girl herself thought she was chubby, but her build was nothing to be ashamed of.

Erin nodded, "Okay, I hope you win." She teased, smiling and continuing to play Parasite Eve on her Playstation Two.

Erin was a girl of fair complexion, standing at about five feet, four inches tall. Her body was slender, and her face was slightly hear shaped, but more round than not. Her large eyes were a mix of green, blue with very little brown and an orange ring around the pupil. Her pink lips were wrought like a small arrow, but not necessarily thin.

Five minutes passed, and Allie was still in the bathroom. Erin wondered. Was she constipated or something? She decided to find out.

Erin rapped at the door, "Allie, did you fall in?" She asked lightly, raising an eyebrow to herself.

"Come in here, look at this…" Allie called from behind the door.

Erin raised a delicate eyebrow, but didn't object. She opened the door to reveal Allie gazing into the mirror, seeming to be enamored by an aspect of the mirror.

"What is…?" Erin started, but what she saw in the mirror had completely enthralled her, "Wow…"

The bright rose-red orbs of light completely enthralled the girls… The globe, only about the size of a baseball, danced gracefully around the mirror, a trail of light following it wherever it floated.

The enchanted pursue of the light was interrupted when Erin finally snapped out of its hypnotism.

"Allie, you spiked my coffee, I know it. We're going outside." Erin barked, grabbing the other girl's wrist and pulling her out of the bathroom and through the house, finally letting go when they stood outside on the deck.

It was on the deck they sat for about an hour, discussing many different things… Including the odd balls of light, but that was a short-lived topic.

"So what do you think of the new science teacher?" Erin queried randomly, turning from her stomach to her back.

"Mr. Johnson? Him?" Allie asked, rising from her laying position, "He's…"

"Stand-offish?" Erin offered.

"Precisely, and he seems as if he's tiresome of life." Allie mused, pushing her glasses up her nose.

Erin nodded in agreement, "He does seem like a jaded man." She mumbled, flipping a stray hair out of her face.

A moment of silence followed before a drone of pain emitted from Erin's throat… her heart felt as if it was frozen in a layer of ice.

"What's wrong? Allie had asked, her voice leaching with concern.

"Ow… Just heart problems, I'll be fine." She whimpered, coughing unyieldingly. Erin had had heart problems since she was very young - she had even had consecutive heart failure twice.

Allie frowned, "Are you tired at all?" She asked.

Erin had got the message that Allie wanted to go to bed - which sounded like a good idea - and nodded curtly.

Allie offered a hand to Erin and she accepted gratefully, "Thank you, Allie." She said, beaming at her friend. She then sauntered to her room, an action Allie mimicked.

In the sleeping quarters of Erin, Allie and Erin hadn't actually made an effort to sleep yet.

"And you know I love it when your bees dance the jig!" Allie giggled, followed by roaring laughter from both girls.

"That's amazing!" Erin snorted, rolling off a bed with a thud, which had only fueled the laughter.

With a loud crack, which brought both girls' attention to the only mirror in the room, dozens upon dozens of rose-red orbs of light had flooded the room, illuminating it with their uncanny luminosity.

Engrossed by the lights, the girls groped for a brilliant sphere. Finally, Erin caught one. The orb tossed her around the room before she lost her grasp and it flew into the bathroom mirror, causing a ripple effect in the glass.

Without thinking, Erin leaped into the mirror, unaware of the fact that the mirror was in fact a passageway to something that could be wonderful or devastating.

All that either girl knew would be lost forever in a life altering twist of fate they thought could only happen in fairy-tales…

How wrong they were.


	2. Time and the Cosmos

Thank you for the wonderful reviews, people! You're all wonderful. Hehehe.

Chapter Two: Time and the Cosmos.

To Erin's surprise, the mirror did not shatter or break. She completely passed through it head first, and then drifted aimlessly through a void colored brilliant hues of blue, purple and gray.

Her whole body experienced a brutal shiver, her stomach churned violently. Erin wouldn't have doubted it if the contents of her stomach would force it up her esophagus and spew out, if it had felt that she COULD vomit. It was quite an unexplainable sensation.

So many thoughts raced through her mind. What happened to Allie? She saw the lights first; therefore she must be going through the mirror as well. She had hoped that they were going the same place and taking different routes.  
Maybe this was a bad nightmare. Maybe, Allie had spiked her coffee from earlier. How she hoped that was the case. Traveling through this tunnel of light was not going to go through well with her if it was actually happening.

A hooded figure appeared, towering over Erin. The figure was fully clad in black robes… Its long, thin fingers wrapped around a handle of a large scythe.

The figure raised its head and lifted one end of the scythe, revealing a rotting face of an unknown soul, with skin of dark color and sockets without eyes.

Erin opened her mouth to scream, but her vocal cords seemed to fail her… It was just like a nightmare. Only air was released.

The creature swung its scythe swiftly, striking Erin in the chest. She felt that every bone had shattered and all her breath had been forced out of her chest. Then all faded to black.

Erin was mildly surprised when she had awakened, for she was almost positive that the figure that had struck her was Death itself… It had fit the description in most media. Also, to her surprise, she was under a blanket, on a firm, but not uncomfortable surface. Almost afraid to poke her head from the covers, she did so despite her fear.

The room was hardly illuminated; she presumed that it was nighttime, seeing as how no sun shone through the many cracks in the ceiling and the moon was clearly visible.

She stood, the blanket dropping to the floor. Moving was awkward, however, because her jeans had been replaced with a white skirt that was very short on one side and long on the other, while the opposite was knee-length. A decorative halter top colored black and silver had taken the place of her t-shirt. She adorned taped boots along with silver bracelets.

From her hips, her favorite weapon hung; Damien's Gauntlets. The tambourines were silver with black rigid rings. They didn't really resemble gauntlets at all, but Aeriah had given them their name when she was very young.

Erin paused. Aeriah, was that now her name? Her eyes widened in realization; she was a whole new person.

Erin was now Aeriah Matof, a dancer girl from a Spanish father and French mother… Her father was a sword master and her mother was a scholar, both had tried to teach her to use different weapons. The only one she had really taken to was the Greave Edge… When she was ten, she was kidnapped by a group of bandits that had called themselves La Morte Aimable. The rest, she couldn't bear to think of.

Aeriah brushed a lock of wavy hair out of her eyes, and then proceeded to sneak through the house she was staying at and ran. Maybe Allie was here somewhere? Damn, she hoped so… If she wasn't, then Aeriah was alone.

Her running continued at an erratic pace, each breath she took burned in her throat. She searched every alleyway she had passed, hoping for a sign of some one familiar, anyone who had been with her in the life that was taken from her before her eyes…

She was convinced that there had to be something here she was familiar with, she felt as if she needed something familiar, even if it would just happen to be her blanket or one of her stuffed animals. Comfort was comfort, either way. But, nonetheless, her top priority was to find her friend.

She ran for roughly an hour, her hopes evaporating with every step. Why was this happening? Was it punishment for whatever sin she had committed? Surely she hadn't done anything to deserve this!

By the time she had given up her search, she felt as if her lungs were on icy fire, however oxymoronic that may sound. The flicker of hope's fire had been extinguished completely. Aeriah was rather upset at this point; she was completely alone in a new life. She was devoid of experience in the area of being a twenty year old bandit; she didn't want to go on like this with no one who knew her feelings.

Footsteps echoed through the dead quiet streets. Initially, Aeriah paid no heed to the footfalls, but as they drew nearer she became increasingly attentive. Finally, the steps had stopped.

Aeriah turned around, revealing the owner of the feet that had produced the dull slaps. Unfortunately, the young girl was all too familiar.

The woman, known as Sophie, was dressed in the short purple cloth shirt and a tight, bottle-green skirt. The girl donned leather sandals. Attached to her white belt was a dagger in its sheath. On the hilt, an even armed cross behind a small star indicated the knife was made by the forger of La Morte Aimable. For a moment, Aeriah went back in her memories.

Five years ago, La Morte Aimable and a similar group, Ángeles Del Infierno, had similar objectives. The Spanish family that had lived there was responsible for many murders of the less fortunate population.

Yvonne was basically the head of this operation, and she commanded Aeriah, Lionel and Sophie to tag along. They learned minutes before they picked the lock that the family had supposedly held a sword called Soul Calibur. Aeriah, frankly, had no idea why the sword could be important, and Sophie had seemed oblivious as well.

Yvonne was not dressed in her normal light colored ring pants and dancer's jacket over a frilly pale green shirt. Replacement attire consisted of all black, form fitting clothing… Yvonne claimed it was easier to maneuver in.

"Lionel, Sophie," Yvonne barked in a low tone, "Go around back. I don't know the layout, and if we all travel together it'd be a waste of time. Don't question me, just go."

Lionel nodded, "I agree for the most part, but I do not favor the idea of Sophie accompanying me, however."

"Now is not the time to be picky," Yvonne snapped, "Aeriah has skills I feel compliment my own, and Sophie's skills compliment yours," Her voice leached of impatience and frustration. Aeriah couldn't help but feel that there was much more to this situation than an artifact, or however the sword was classified. Maybe her instincts were wrong, but she could only hope.

Sophie and Lionel reluctantly sprinted towards the east side of the mansion. Aeriah silently wondered if their intentions were to enter from the back or the side, but that wasn't important.

Yvonne smiled, almost maniacally, a mad glint in her eye, "Now, we enter."

Aeriah nodded, unsettled by Yvonne's recent behaviors. Usually, the woman was kind, gentle, and very open. However, for the past month or so, she had been shutting everyone out, mumbling about energies and swords and men in white robes… Thinking of this change wasn't pleasant, and Aeriah focused on the task at hand.

Yvonne and Aeriah proceeded to open the door quietly. Frankly, Aeriah was enamored with the very elaborate home… Did some one really live here?  
"If you sense anything at all… Tell me…" Yvonne murmured, rooting around the personal belongings of the people who lived here.

To be quite honest, Aeriah had no idea what Yvonne could be talking about. With all these queer things the woman who had once been her mother figure had been saying, she wasn't sure of what she should believe.

The pair searched relentlessly, peering into every vase and behind every sculpture. With each passing moment, Yvonne's dissatisfaction escalated.

Yvonne growled, knocking an exquisite and seemingly expensive vase to the ground. Aeriah could almost hear every fragment of the once majestic article of pottery shatter, "Aeriah, you're positive that you don't sense anything abnormal?"  
"Yvonne," Aeriah whispered harshly, slapping her hand over the taller Yvonne's mouth, "Do you _want_ us to be noticed!"

Yvonne violently seized the girl's wrist, digging her sharp fingernails into the flesh, "Girl, you don't order me around… do you understand that?"  
Aeriah nodded fearfully and Yvonne let go. Aeriah turned, facing away from Yvonne and examined the wound… Yvonne had caused it to bleed quite a bit. Aeriah ripped the end of her skirt to use as a makeshift bandage.

With an unexpected thud, Aeriah jumped and twirled to discover an image that would linger in her mind forever.

Sophie smirked maliciously, "Why hello there… Long time, no see…" Sophie hissed acidly.

Aeriah examined the girl she hadn't seen in four years. The cold, slim gray eyes and the long, narrow, hooked nose were still sitting on the same oval shaped face, which was framed by the mud-colored hair in tight spirals. The tall, muscular girl didn't seem different at all.

Aeriah scowled, "Sophie, I didn't kill Yvonne…" She said behind clenched teeth, her long fingers curling around Damien's Gauntlets firmly.

Sophie glowered, saying thousands of words without the trace of a sound. Aeriah could tell the woman's hatred for her was deep-set…

In one swift move, the blade of Sophie's dagger was at Aeriah's neck, "How does it feel to look death straight in the eyes, Aeriah? How does it feel?" The cold blade touched Aeriah's skin.

Aeriah silently panicked and, without thinking, raised one of Damien's Gauntlets with her left hand and brought it over the other woman's head, so the tambourine was around her neck. She violently jerked the tambourine towards the left and the ridges tore into Sophie's neck.

Aeriah dropped the tambourine, causing Sophie to fall to the ground with a sickening thud. She couldn't believe herself. She had just killed some one…  
She retrieved her tambourine and wiped it off with an article of Sophie's clothing. For what seemed like hours, which was actually mere minutes, Aeriah strode curtly, her hand covering her mouth. She recalled that about seven years ago, another member of La Morte Aimable had supposedly murdered a woman, and a manhunt was called. Was the same happening to Aeriah because of Yvonne? Sophie's dead body couldn't assist her in a plea for innocence; on one account she would in fact be guilty.

The familiar dull slap of footfalls emitted from behind Aeriah, causing her to sigh. Twisting her body so that she faced the opposite way, she discovered six or seven men and women dressed in green and purple.

Aeriah glowered, knowing she was most definitely going to die if she faced the group alone, "Your little group is damn persistent," She growled tartly, her overall posture rigid and her teeth clenched. She seemed to feel an odd mixture of annoyance, dread, and a rather grim sense of amusement.

A tall woman, about six feet tall, simpered darkly, "Of course. You should know, young one. You were the same way." The woman spoke in heavily accented French… Perhaps the woman's first language was something similar to Japanese?  
"And we dun' give up on our kin!" Another man jousted, apparently hoping that Aeriah would feel guilt.

Aeriah placed her hands on her hips… An action denying her fear, "And I suppose it's customary for a group who consider each other to be their own flesh and blood to estrange one of their own…?"

The same woman appeared offended, "What the hell are you talking about? We treated you as a sister, a daughter, even!"  
Aeriah suppressed her laughter, "You can't be serious," She tucked a rebellious strand of her black hair behind her ear, "Lionel and Yvonne were the only ones that treated me as their own family, before Lionel decided to play double-agent, kill Yvonne and attempt to kill Sophie and me." Saying Lionel's name after all of this time was on level with a kick in the heart…

A snort of contempt emitted from the woman, "Please, child, we've heard that story," She pulled her bastard sword from its plain sheath, "Don't even bother with your prayers, they won't help you now."

All at once, swords, sickles, maces and axes swung at Aeriah from all around. She was able to evade most of the strikes, but attacking some one was another story. As she evaded and dodged the seemingly more powerful attacks, the glum truth became apparent.

Death was drawing closer for Aeriah.


	3. Masquerading Motives

-1W00t! Thank you all for the… reviews. come one people. Plz. I'll love you forever. Anyway, I'm hoping this chapter is a lot less… I don't know, never mind, just R&R.

Chapter Three: Masquerading Motives

Raphael Sorel brushed his blonde hair out of his face; his red mask was now fully visible, as well as sharp and defined features, considered attractive by many women. His hair bothered him. Right now, it was just unattended to, but when he attempted to slick it back there was just a bit that hung in his face.

He was roughly five feet ten inches tall, and had a muscular build. He donned tight white pants with knee high brown boots, and gauntlets of the same color. He also wore a violet colored unbuttoned shirt. His prized rapier, which he called Flambert, hung in its sheath on his side. The weapon did not look like anything special, quite an ordinary sword. He looked into an alleyway, sighing semi-dramatically. Why had he been brought to such a level, as to help some woman he had met not an hour ago find her missing friend?  
The face that influenced every step he took appeared in his head: Amy's. He would do anything to assure her well-being, even if it did seem tedious and redundant. Finding his foster daughter was well worth it.

He turned to the woman he was assisting at the moment; She had said her name was Demetrius, or something to that effect. He found her name to be ridiculous. Why would some one give their daughter a man's name?

Demetrius wasn't unattractive, in Raphael's opinion at least; she was a little under a foot shorter than Raphael, with short, bob cut black hair with reddish undertones. The girl's left eye was brown with very slight purple; usually a trait of a taint of some sort, while her right was covered in a black eye patch. A black muffler was tied around her neck, covering part of her nose and mouth. Black pirate boots were worn over plain, tight black pants. Her shirt resembled one that a pirate would wear in a dull red color. Onyx colored punisher shoulder pads went well with the punisher gauntlets of the same hue. On her side hung a white colored rapier; the hilt was elaborate, but not ridiculously so. Raphael had idly wondered if she could use the weapon.

Demetrius turned her head to Raphael, "Any sign of her?"

Raphael hadn't actually examined the alleyway, yet, and sauntered down the alleyway. He hardly remembered the description of the girl, anyway.

He discovered the corpse of a young woman, sprawled on the ground, deep puncture wounds on her neck. A pool of blood surrounded the body.  
He kicked the corpse, "Could this be her?" he shouted, cocking his head to one side.

Demetrius rushed to the dead body, examining the wounds on her neck, "No, this doesn't fit the description at all… My friend's hair is black and she has a fair complexion compared to this young woman," She paused, contemplating an unknown subject.

Raphael shrugged, and paused for a moment, "I hear voices…" He mumbled, walking in the direction of the words.

He said inwardly, hoping that Demetrius would be of more use once her friend was retrieved… He regretted choosing this woman for help already, but wandering around the continent alone would be much more dangerous than it was six months ago. He cursed the damnable bandits that had been becoming less and less secretive because of the controversy that comes along with an important shattered sword.

For a short moment, he tried to remember any indication of who had shattered the sword. Was it the little priestess girl, possibly? He knew it didn't matter, however. Whoever it was did it in vain. It would come back together again.

Raphael stopped at the end of the street, viewing the fight that was taking place. About five men and women seemed to be ganging up on one young woman, shorter than most of the others with blue-black hair. It seemed as if two had died in battle.

Demetrius squealed, "That's her!" She said in a low voice, covering the area her mouth would be with her hand.

"Calm down," Raphael snapped, "You'll be a fat lot of use if you panic." He knew it'd be more difficult for the girl, for she cared for the woman being attacked.

Raphael had met bandits before. What cowards they were. If the strongest of them were to die, the rest would flee. There was a tall woman with a bastard sword.

He ran swiftly to the group and thrust his sword through the woman, causing the group to pause when they heard her yelp of pain.

Raphael must have been correct at his inference that she was the head of the group, and the four remaining scoundrels ran off. The woman that had apparently been the target collapsed and Raphael snorted. What if he was out to kill her, as well?

Demetrius ran to the woman and wrapped her arms around her neck. _What a touching moment_, Raphael thought to himself sarcastically.

"It's not very intelligent to just sit here like dead ducks," Raphael snapped, crossing his arms in front of his chest impatiently, "I would suggest we venture back to that abandoned house we saw on the way here, Demetrius."

Demetrius stood up and looked to her friend, "Are you going to be able to walk…?" She asked, cocking her head to one side. The girl stood, swaying slightly on her feet and nodded. This gave Raphael a good opportunity to examine her better.

He found the black and white clad girl seemingly weak, for she was relatively thin and appeared fragile. He noticed the tambourines hanging from her side, which were around fourteen inches in diameter. Were _those _supposed to be used as weapons?

xxx

At the abandoned house, the two women talked amongst them as Raphael cleaned Flambert. Listening in occasionally, he learned the newcomer's name was Aeriah. The name sounded similar to something a Spanish noble would name their dearest lapdog; but that was only his opinion.

The girls sat talking, and Raphael couldn't help but voice his questions for the girl.

He cleared his throat, looking back at Aeriah viciously, "Why were they attacking you?" he inquired, furrowing his eyebrows. Honestly, if this girl was in trouble with the law, she was on her own. The local authorities weren't something Raphael was afraid of; it was that the time they wasted he was concerned about.

Aeriah cleared her throat, "What went on is none of your business; they're bandits and nothing more." She snapped, as if she had known what was on his mind. He didn't appreciate her brashness, however.

"Why was the one woman wielding a bastard sword?" Raphael questioned.

Aeriah shrugged weakly, "I don't know, a lot has probably changed. Four years ago all bandits carried were daggers, and some held tambourines… Now they have swords and maces and… whatever else."

Raphael nodded, for he did understand what she meant. He had noticed certain bandits carrying heavier weapons. Why, though? It was inane! Why try and win with a heavier weapon with less skill? He didn't see how one could win through brawn alone; but that was just his opinion.

The fact that the two women were so secretive unsettled Raphael. What they said could surely be suitable for him to hear… Unless they were discussing feminine matters… Then they could keep it to themselves. Their faces however weren't playful, but stern; they were conversing on a serious topic.

He realized that neither woman knew him well, however, so he could respect their secrecy… For now.

Demetrius apparently finished speaking to Aeriah when she approached Raphael, "You asked us to accompany you, correct?" She asked, holding one elbow and stroking her chin.

Raphael nodded, "Yes, that's quite accurate." he said bluntly, his face quite blank.Demetrius raised an eyebrow, "May I ask why? I'd think a man of your…" She paused, contemplating word use, "Situation, and by that I mean a man in good health, seemingly wealthy and strong, would need two women to accompany him."

Raphael's face remained neutral, but his eyes were cold, "That, my dear," He sneered, "Is something you don't need to know. If I come to trust you, which is highly unlikely, then it is possible I may tell you."

Demetrius nodded curtly, "Fair enough." She mumbled, obviously dissatisfied. His lips curled into a sardonic smirk. Demetrius gave Raphael a blank look, "You're going to be like this for the duration of the time, aren't you?"

Raphael cocked his head to one side, obviously confused. He had no idea what she was talking about. No matter, though. What she meant didn't really matter; he wanted her only for her help.

He dismissed her with a hand gesture, and she went back to her friend. He took this time to contemplate the situation at hand. He was stuck in France in this filthy city with two young girls, which seemed more trouble that they're worth. Was this really worth finding Amy?

He almost slapped himself for even thinking this; of course Amy was worth it! Why did he even doubt it?

xxx

Lionel's footsteps echoed as he ambled down the stone halls. Why did Riozaconn decide to inhabit an abandoned castle, anyway? It wasn't something Lionel had any say in, however, and continued.

Lionel was short, only about five feet four inches tall, with long, muscular arms and legs. His shoulder length auburn hair was pulled back, his strong features clearly visible. His old thief's dagger had been replaced with a zweihander swung across his back, a weapon he had been learning for years, but didn't use as a primary weapon until recently.

He entered the main room of the castle and arched a thick eyebrow in amusement. Riozaconn had really outdone himself with this place. On the stone floor, there was an exquisite Persian rug with cream colored fringes and an elegant design in reds, blues and other hues. On the ceiling there was a rusty chandelier that may have once been lovely. Though in its condition it appeared unusable, it worked as well as any new item. On the rug was a thick, wooden table that could easily fit twenty people.

Lionel's amusement faded, however, once he realized his situation. He was late for the meeting.

Riozaconn lifted his head, grinning falsely in order to receive Lionel properly. "Ah, Lionel, you're late. We were just discussing the matter at hand; are you familiar with it?"

Lionel nodded sharply, "Well, of course I do. It's only the biggest issue as of late."

Riozaconn closed his eyes in a solemn manner, tsk-tsking. "No need to be quite so rude about it, Lionel. Now, shall we?"

Lionel paused for a moment. Riozaconn was so overbearing, it was almost disgusting. He wasn't sure he exactly liked this fellow, in all of his faux-splendor. Sure, he was rich and pompous, but he only gained his wealth from doing dirty deeds; which wasn't quite fair. Though this would be expected from a leader of an order that was a good number of centuries old. "Fine, fine…" He trailed off, pulling out a cast iron and cherry wood chair.  
"Isacre…. Well, she's gone too far this time." Said a rather gnarled looking woman, with a pair of half-moon spectacles perched precariously on her hooked nose.

"Indeed she has…. Looking out for a pair of vagabonds? What looking after would they ever need? They have the power of the swords on their side," Added a tall and lanky man with a scarred face that resembled stained leather.

Most of the group nodded in agreement. Lionel raised an eyebrow tentatively. Did he just say "the swords?" What swords did he mean? "Soul Calibur will eventually lead to Soul Edge, but we may skip that step, since they're already so close to each other." He stated flatly.

A chuckle rose from Riozaconn's direction, although it didn't sound true. "Alright, alright, enough bashing. We really do need to get to the-"

The leather faced man turned his head to Riozaconn, "Basically what you're saying is that we should destroy Isacre so she doesn't interfere with the girls," He interrupted in a matter-of-factly manner.

Riozaconn nodded to concur, though he certainly didn't seem to appreciate the man's lack of respect, "Yes, indeed. But she's very learned in the art of fighting; the problem is how to go about doing such."

The hook-nosed woman piped up. "We could ambush her," She said, appearing proud that she thought of this 'brilliant' idea herself.

Riozaconn rolled his eyes, rubbing at his temples as if to try to stimulate himself, "No, no, no…. She'd certainly see that coming. She knows who and what is following her."

Then, Lionel tapped a thick finger on the table, trying to gain attention, "Ahem…. Mind if I… Put in a word…?" Lionel said, smirking deviously as everyone turned to face him.


	4. The Burden Accompanying Redemption

-1Author's Notes: Thank you, those who gave reviews and advice! Some advice I didn't follow, for I was almost done with the chapter. I think, once I finish or get much farther in the story I'll rewrite these earlier chapters. Anyway, here's chapter four, which took forever.

Chapter Four: The Burden Accompanying Redemption

In the Greek streets, a tall woman clad in black and white curtly stalked the streets. The only feature of hers visible was her ruby red eyes, which went well with her paper-white skin and wavy hair of the same hue. Under the black cloth that hid her face was a pair of thin, pale lips and a sloped nose. Her sickle, colored crimson, was wrapped around her waist as a belt at the moment. She found it to be a useful way of hiding the weapon… It was better to be creative than to strive to be like everyone else and wear their weapon in a normal way.

She was growing frustrated with her current situation; the woman she had met the other day had told her to meet her on this street, did she not? People these days were so unreliable. More often than not it was stupidity or impudence. She was above that, by far.

The albino sighed dramatically. She should have known the woman was probably out to waste her time. She had only wanted information! Did that really warrant a lie? She shook her head; she was being paranoid. She was probably just late.

After wandering awhile, she noticed a figure clad in red. She could only see the burgundy hair of the figure, and decided that she'd get closer to get a better look.

As she approached, the woman's features became more apparent; her large ice-blue eyes, her thin nose and lips sitting on an oval face. This was most definitely the woman from last night. The woman was even wearing the same red alchemist's dress and the same black fishnets, black saint's boots, and a ribbon scarf in a dusty white hue. Swung on her back was a lilac shield, and in a plain gray sheath was a short sword.

The albino lifted her light eyebrows, "I didn't think I'd find you." She stated, scanning the shorter woman.

The woman, named Morgan, shrugged curtly, "It would have been your fault if you hadn't." She said, her eyes observing the woman as well. Well, wasn't this fun?

"True, but we're not here to discuss the possibilities of whose fault it was," The albino snapped, crossing her arms in front of her chest, "Now, tell me all you know."

Morgan bit her lip and sighed, "Well, you see…" She began, at which point the other woman sighed dramatically. This was never a good thing to begin a conversation with, especially in matters such as this, "I, myself, don't have the information. My employer, however, does."

The albino scoffed, "Make that apparent to the next person that needs any information you don't have."

Morgan narrowed her eyes, and continued, "I thought he'd tell me, but he won't… So I scheduled you a meeting with him, but I never got a name from you," She stated flatly, arching an eyebrow, as if to ask for a name. The albino woman ignored this request.

"Who is your employer? And how do you work for him?" The woman asked her deep voice cold. She wasn't going to waste all of her time dancing around the subject, but she found those questions to be vital ones. What if she happened to work for the order? Though unlikely it was possible.

"I am a bodyguard for Dante Matof," Morgan told the woman simply, and quite impatiently. The woman got the message and nodded, signaling the girl to lead her to her employer. Dante Matof. The name set a light off in the woman's head, but she couldn't quite point out where she had heard it. Maybe it would be known once she saw the man.

XXX

"Daddy, who's coming today?" Little Nita Matof asked, her large, eight year old chocolate eyes staring up at her father, rather puzzled. Dante smiled to himself. Nita was quite an inquisitive young girl, wasn't she? He wasn't surprised she knew he had a visitor, however. Dante had always been restless before any type of meeting with another person.

Nita was a very small, tan girl, only barely four feet tall with short black hair in pigtails rested high on her head. She wore a simple white dress with a pale green gown that reached her knees.

Dante kneeled, patting his daughter's head, "You have no reason to worry, dear," He cooed, and his daughter beamed and ran off to play with her toys. He chuckled momentarily, and then shifted his thoughts to more serious topics. Morgan was taking awhile acquiring the woman for her meeting. Maybe she was lost, or something to that effect? He brushed his dark hair out of his weathered, tan face and blue-green eyes. He hated work.

Morgan sauntered in, bowing slightly, "The woman that had requested to see you has arrived," She said flatly glancing behind her for a moment, "I really don't like her, sir." She said in a low tone of voice, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Send her in." He responded quite blankly, paying no heed to Morgan's warning. She didn't like anyone, ever. She nodded and another woman entered, wearing thick clothing, concealing the majority of her facial features.

The woman removed her thick clothing, revealing her normal attire, which consisted of a red leather corset and a pair of black ring pants, accompanied by black pirate boots. She had silver braces on her wrists as well, and a belt, with a blade attached… He knew he knew the woman from somewhere.

The woman's mild surprise was apparent, but she remained calm, "Hello, Dante," She greeted with a slight bow, "How are you on this fine Greek day?"

Dante chuckled, "There's no need for small talk. I know we recognize each other, but from where?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. He contradicted himself, yes, but he found where they knew each other from to be crucial.

Isacre raised an eyebrow, but responded, "Did you ever work for Riozaconn?"

Dante beamed, immediately knowing who the woman was, "Isacre! Yes, you were Riozaconn's right hand woman before Lionel came to the order, correct?"

She glowered at the memory of those days, and her disgust of Riozaconn, but nodded, "Yes, that's quite right…" She mumbled, "What's the imbecile up to now?"

"Looking for you," Dante began, motioning for Isacre to sit on one of the elaborate chairs, "The whole order is making a large deal out of your betrayal, as they'd like to call it. They say you have found the vessel for the Soul Edge…?"

Isacre frowned, "That's why I came, actually…" She said, sitting down gingerly, "I know it's a possibility, but, I don't actually have a vessel. For either sword."

Dante smirked, "That's quite a shame."

Isacre scowled, crossing one leg over the other, "Yes, quite… Now, I come here to ask if you have any information on the person that could be wielding it…?"

Dante laughed heartily, "That's funny, Isacre. Tell me, how many people have been searching for Soul Edge? How many people have come into contact with the sword?"

The woman scowled, her blood-red eyes narrowing, "How is this pertinent?" She hissed, obviously growing aggravated.

"Many people have. And since the fragments are spread, there could be multiple people carrying fragments in their bodies! Though more likely than not, they wouldn't be human."

Isacre frowned, "And that's not depressing," She said sarcastically.

Dante leaned on a nearby desk, "Well, it is what you get for lying. And betraying. Why did you leave them, anyway?"

Isacre stood, resting her hands on her thin hips, "Riozaconn is a moron. Lionel is more than likely the man behind it all. Amott is probably contributing to it as well, but it is probably mostly Lionel. Mondeklipse would have fallen long ago if not for I."

Dante snorted, "Don't get cocky," He advised, furrowing his eyebrows. The young woman was strong, he had heard of her accomplishments, but there was no need to be haughty, "I will give you credit for the mansion assault a few years back, obtaining a piece of Soul Calibur and all, but you did not retrieve the whole thing. Besides, that mission was in vain, Riozaconn lost the portion recently."

"Lovely," Isacre growled, rolling her eyes, "If he were any slower he'd probably be going backwards. In time."

Dante nodded in agreement, "He is rather dense. Does he really even know what the Spirit Sword is?" He inquired, cocking his head to one side.

Isacre scoffed, "More likely than not, no. He knows it opposes Soul Edge, and I suppose that is all that matters."

Dante raised an eyebrow, "Well, then. I suppose-" at this point the front door had been knocked down rather loudly, bits of wood flying in different directions. A man stood, clad in gray assassin robes. His pale face's features were sharp and defined, though the purple veins that showed through seemed to be the focal point of his face. His eyes were a dull gray, devoid of zeal. He held an almost abnormally long, worn rapier, the hilt a simple blue color. The first quarter of the blade was covered in dark, crimson fluid. The thick, blonde hair on his head was pulled back into a ponytail.

The intruder grinned wryly, "Why, hello there, fancy seeing you here, Izzy." He mused, slipping into a fighting stance.

Isacre immediately recognized the man as Ivan, a younger member of Mondeklipse. While most of the members were in their forties, while Riozaconn was in his late twenties and Isacre in her thirties, Ivan was a mere twenty-four year old. The only reason he was a member was because he had basically spent his life with the rapier, or so she heard. She studied his stance momentarily; it seemed typical of one who wields a rapier, though he certainly did bounce around a bit more.

Isacre unhooked her belt, allowing the vertebrae of her weapon to spread and her sickle to become its full length. The blade hovered a few inches off the ground, swaying slightly. The blade was crescent shaped and the weapon as a whole seemed as if it maintained very well with constant care.

Ivan thrust his blade at Isacre at chest level, which she evaded by ducking down swiftly, sweeping her right leg under Ivan, causing him to lose his balance momentarily. This gave Isacre the opportunity to wrap her weapon around Ivan's neck; a plan that would have worked if he hadn't recovered sooner than she thought and forced the hilt of his rapier to the side of her skull. He then kneed her stomach, causing the woman to double over. Finally recovering, she was able to avoid a strike which would have a rather nasty result by wrapping the sickle around his blade. Her hands crept up several vertebrae and tugged, causing the sword to shatter. The young man rather obviously panicked at his sudden lack of a weapon, and Isacre wrapped the weapon around his neck, pushing him against the wall.

Isacre couldn't help but be curious. Surely, Ivan would put up a fight. No matter, she had him. She knew Ivan was extremely anxious of his position, yet he attempted to keep a cool demeanor. "Well, Izzy, isn't this a familiar position?" He asked, referring to an episode the two had been through shortly before she had left the order.

Isacre glowered fiercely, "I doubt this has a sexual outcome." She stated flatly, taking a deep breath, "I'm past that, now."

"You think denying your lust for flesh suddenly makes amends for everything you did in Mondeklipse?" Ivan scoffed, rolling his eyes, "The road to redemption is long, Izzy. Full of twists and turns," he paused, shaking his head to move a few straw strands of hair from his face, "It's rather complicated. Would you rather not stay on the path you turned your back on?"

Isacre did contemplate this for a moment, though her desire for salvation from her deeds while working for the order that killed her son overruled. Immediately, he knew trying to convince her to return wasn't going to work. She tightened the weapon's grip, the edges of the weapon tearing into Ivan's neck, though not severely.

"Why are you here, anyway?" She questioned, narrowing her eyes, "Is there a bounty on my head, now?" Honestly, she thought, Mondeklipse is just getting more ridiculous.

Ivan smirked, "I was just in the neighborhood. Happened to spot you." He put simply, arching his eyebrows slightly.

"So you're… stalking me?" She asked slowly, knitting her eyebrows.

Ivan shrugged, "Seeing as how you _are _wanted, I suppose it would be beneficial to waste a little of my time in order to turn you in for the money to actually make something of myself."

Isacre absentmindedly licked her lips, "You dislike Mondeklipse, then?"

Ivan nodded, "You see, my family was kind of screwed over after my brother ran away, so I left. Wouldn't you like to be more than a lapdog for nobles?"

Isacre shrugged, "That's not my concern," She said, uncoiling the sickle from Ivan's neck. He immediately wiped the little blood dripping from his injury.

"You know, Izzy," He said, gathering the major shards of his weapon for later repair, "The order will likely welcome you back. Riozaconn is a fool; he'd not think anything of it."

Isacre sighed, "Just go." She barked, tucking a stand of hair behind her ear. Damn, he was persistent. Ivan sighed, nodding a good-bye to Isacre and silently and quickly darting out of the room.

Isacre sighed, scanning the room for Dante. He must have been watching over his daughter, or something to that affect. She couldn't blame him, however.

She thought for a brief moment, before gathering her thick over clothing and sauntering away from the building, sighing distantly. This visit really hadn't been beneficial, had it? The only purpose this served was to travel back into the past, really. She didn't need to be reminded of the experience she had with Ivan. Nor did she need a reminder of her son's death. Why was it that it seemed each step intended toward redemption was two steps back and towards failure?

She watched as the sun fell, painting the sky various colors of red and gold. How ironic, she thought, setting her eyes on the ground below her to avoid gazing into the blood colored sky. There was too much blood on her hands… Would her plan to obliterate Mondeklipse cleanse it?

XXX

Ivan sat sulking, rubbing his neck and growling in frustration. This little expedition was two fold; on one hand, he'd be rewarded for returning Isacre, and eliminating a threat, while on the other, she wouldn't be out there…

Ivan shook his head as if clearing it. This was ridiculous. Why was it that the woman occupied his mind so often? Was she some sort of witch, or something? Very doubtful. Though, he did seriously contemplate it.

He released a sound which was a blend between a sigh and a growl… Amott would not be very happy.

XXX


End file.
